Cigarettes & Cynicism
by JordyBoy13
Summary: The L4D Crew's endeavors to escape the nightmarish city through the weary eyes of the war-veteran, Bill.
1. Cutting Losses, a Time to Move On…

Cigarettes & Cynicism

Intro - Cutting Losses, a Time to Move On…

Ya know, it took me two… rather eventful tours in 'Nam, a handful of medals… A knee full of shrapnel, all followed by an honorable discharge before the unthinkable happened: I ran out of wars. Now an army of murderous undead just declared war on humanity. So, a few wasted decades of aimless drifting and dead-end jobs later, I guess I finally got back the only thing I ever wanted - an enemy to fight.

It all started 'bout a week or so ago, I s'pose… Yep, that'd be about when those ludicrous reports first started surfacing. Reports talking about… What was it, now? "The walking undead" I believe they called it, attacking bystanders. Tsssk… Naturally, half the damned population flipped and lost it. Started packin' food and supplies… They even went as far as taking shelter. My wife, Anna… and my brother Phillip… they left along with them. But not me. I wouldn't fall for something as ridiculous as that. I did the sensible thing; stayed home, popped open a six-pack, and pretended it wasn't happening. Nonsense, those reports were, in just about every fashion. Or, at least, I thought so. But you know… Really - take it upon yourself to believe what you see on T.V. sometimes. It just might save your cynical ass.

Some time's passed by now and I've come to realize just how real this all is. I don't understand any of it, and I honestly couldn't care less how it all happened. But I'll be damned if I went through all that bullshit in Vietnam just to become some mindless, rotting shell's supper. Now, I realized that as much as I regret not leavin' with Anna, it was time to kick my own ass into gear, stop feeling sorry for myself and get the hell out of there. So, before I took my leave from my apartment… I slipped into my old uniform from back in the day, packed up a flashlight, a blanket, and good ol' Faithful (a 12-gauge shotgun with one hell of a kick to it) and started on my way out of this hell-hole. I met up with an interesting trio on my way out of the city; a loud, cocky, biker named Francis who thinks he's damn-near invincible, a seemingly average-joe named Louis who I personally find could stand to grow half a spine… Oh, and a lovely college student name Zoey. She's a real sweetheart with her endless repertoire of sarcastic comments and back-sass like you wouldn't believe. But, hey, it ain't all bad; these youngsters are packing a pretty decent arsenal, I must say. I can't tell if we're gonna make it out of this nightmare, but if not… We'll die putting up one hell of a fight.

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Author's Comments: Hey guys, this'll be my first entry on FanFiction. It's basically Bill's take on the L4D crew's attempts to escape the nightmare of the city. Now, this is just the intro to the series of Cigarettes & Cynicism, but Chapter 1 should be coming up soon enough if I score some decent writing time. Enjoy for now! =]

--JordyBoy13.


	2. Nostalgic Feel of a Gun in Hand

Cigarettes & Cynicism

Chapter Two – Nostalgic Feel of a Gun in Hand

'Soon as the introductions and niceties were over, it was time to fabricate a plan of action. We needed to find the quickest route out the city, preferably some time _before_ those wretched bloodthirsty bastards showed up. That'd be just dandy.

"Move it or lose it, people!" called Francis in a loud, irritated tone. "We gotta cut through the whole damn Stillwater District before dark if--" Zoey interrupted. "I think you're forgetting we need to make a stop for supplies, genius." she protested as she crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. Quite the lil' number, ain't she? Francis continued, ignoring her completely: "…'Cause come nightfall, they're gonna swarm there like a fly on shit, which I'm pretty sure you won't wanna be there to see" he added as he cleared his throat and spat, throwin' in a thumbs down. "C'mon, stop killin' daylight." I added, annoyed. "Gah, this thick fog is killin' my eyes…" Louis grimaced as he dug his palms into his eyes.

They're definitely not the most efficient crew, but we're holdin' our own just fine, I s'pose. I could honestly do without Louis' constant damn complainin', though… as well as Zoey's. The two've got some trouble understandin' beggars can't be choosers. Granted, a bite to eat and a change of clothin' couldn't hurt, right now. That's why we're on our merry way to a nearby survivor camp. I just hope the _neighbors_ haven't gotten there first.

"SCREEEEEE!" a bloodcurdling shriek sounded in the distance. The sound of multiple footsteps grew louder and louder as I started to make out a band of silhouettes coming at us full-speed from our rear. "Ahh, Christ…" I groaned as I cocked my gun. "6 o'clock!" I roared as Louis pivoted and landed quite a beauty of a headshot. "Get a clue, Francis!" Zoey barked as she fired her pistols at the cluster of attackers. "Oh…" Francis turned around with a lackluster look of dumbfoundedness. "Therethey are..." he mumbled to himself. He downed 3 instantly with a quick spray of his M16 assault rifle. "Reinforcements!" Louis cried as another oncoming horde turned in from an alleyway. "I got it…" I called as I pulled out a lil' surprise I had prepared earlier on. "Watch it - Molotov!" I called as I tossed it into the lot of 'em. It engulfed them in the fiery kind of hell they deserved yet curiously escaped the_ first _time they kicked the bucket_._ "Pity…" I muttered as they burned to the ground. I shook my head. "Waste of good booze."

Louis cheered and wrapped his arm around Francis who gave a hearty victory howl. Zoey, on the other hand was occupied by something else. "G-guys..." she stuttered as she began to back away. The ground began to rumble.

"...'The hell…?" Francis bellowed. "Bah… What's this, now!?" I cried pessimistically.

Zoey had a look of sheer terror in her eye. Shakily, she raised her hand to point at something in the horizon.

"HYEEEEEEEEEUGH!!!" an ear-splitting roar echoed across the street.

"Fuck… Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!" Louis bawled.

"Tank."

Ya know, I gotta say that up until now it hadn't been too different from my days in the service: aim, scream, fire, and end those sons of bitches. Real walk in the park - 'cept now… Well, you look me in the eye and tell me you've seen an 8-foot tall Viet with biceps the size of beach balls. Checkmate.


End file.
